


A Thief and A Coward

by CorvidFeathers



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-14
Updated: 2012-06-14
Packaged: 2017-11-07 18:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorvidFeathers/pseuds/CorvidFeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faustina Collari, the Templar's Thief, is sent to spy on La Volpe. What she learns about the Assassins will test her loyalty to the Templar cause.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thief and A Coward

Two children fled over the rooftops of Roma. They were young, barely in their teens, and terror was plain on their faces. The girl stumbled, and the boy caught her, urging her on. They jumped from roof to roof, with the ease that comes from practice. But hot on their heels was a white-hooded figure. He was clearly even more at ease, scaling walls effortlessly where the two children had had to spend precious seconds scrambling for handholds.

The children had the advantage of knowing the city better. The girl knew if only they could only get down and lose their pursuer in the crowd, than they could escape into the shadows of the city. Their pursuer might have been stronger and better trained, but he was clearly unfamiliar with the layout of Roma. The man would have no hope of finding their hideout. 

Her breath was coming in ragged gasps, but desperation fueled her on. Her brother, his dark hair flying, kept a firm hold of her sleeve. The Collari twins looked so different most assumed them to be courting, when they saw them on the streets, but for the fact that they were far too poor for such frivolities. She was dressed in nothing more than a ragged blue tunic, and her feet were bare. Her brother had a dusty old jacket that had been their father’s, and a pair of patched britches.

Neither knew what prompted the man to chase them. They had heard whispered tales of predators that hunted the Borgia, white-hooded shadows that swooped out of the night, made their kills, and then melted away again. Some said that they were demons, others that they were angels sent by God, but most dismissed them as merely specters conjured up by long, fearful nights spent cooped up in guard towers and patrolling the city streets. There were plenty of cutthroats and thieves that roamed the alleys and slums of the cities of Italia, and they often found the city guards and militia rich pickings. It was much more honorable to claim your friends had been killed by some devils, rather than a common criminal.

The rumors had faded to mere whispers by the time they reached Roma. No attacker, angel or not, would dare disobey the Borgia within its walls. It was the center of power, and its citizens were confident in the knowledge that no matter how far Venice descended into chaos, they would be safe within the walls of Roma. 

They were wrong. This realization came to Faustina and Adrian ten years before it reached anyone else.

Adrian threw a glance over his shoulder, and only a quick tug from his sister stopped him from running smack into a roof storage stall. She pulled too hard, however, and sent him staggering straight into the path of their pursuer. 

The white-robed man had been balanced at the edge of the roof. Adrian smashed into him, and they were both sent over the edge. Faustina made a grab from her brother. Her fingers met his shirt, but the worn fabric ripped, leaving her holding only a handful of cloth. She threw it aside and drew her scissor blade. 

It was the finest possession she had. When their mother had finally succumbed to the pneumonia that had been eating her away for weeks, Adrian and Faustina. had been left with nothing but a pair of steel scissors and a few coins. Not even enough for a pauper’s grave, Their mother’s illness had been a costly one. So they had buried her as best they could, and split the scissors for makeshift weapons. The newly christened blade had been surprisingly resilient, and invaluable in thieving.

She sprang to the edge of the building. It was a only a drop of a few feet, so both their assailant and her brother were unharmed. The white-hooded man grappled with Adrian. Adrian could only hold his own for a few seconds before the well-muscled man threw him off. There was the metallic sound of metal on metal, and the man brought his wrist down onto Adrian’s chest.

For a second she thought he had just punched her brother. But the metal blade that had slid from his sleeve said otherwise. Adrian opened his mouth and screamed. The scream descended into a guttural choke, and pink froth bubbled from his lips. She had been about to attack, to defend her brother. Adrian’s eyes met hers, and seemed to be looking straight through her. No one could live with a wound like that.

She didn’t freeze in fear. She had seen far too many meet brutal ends to do that.

Faustina ran. 

She didn’t know why the man didn’t catch her. She didn’t know where she was going, but fear pushed her onwards. She had to run, get far, far away. Maybe her brother would be waiting… maybe it would be all nothing but a nightmare…

Her path led her back through the neighborhood that they had once lived in, years before. Her only memories of the place, nothing more than brief snatches, were colored in vivid shades of all colors imaginable. In the alleys the only colors were the stone gray of the walls and the red of blood. Indeed the murderer had looked quite out of place, pristine and white against the filth. Pristine until the white had been soaked through with Adrian’s blood.

Faustina finally had to stop running, nearly collapsing against a wall. Her scissor blade was still clutched in her hand, and her fingers were beginning to ache. She slid it back into her sleeve, choking back tears. She had always been able to trust Adrian, and he had always trusted her. 

That trust had been misplaced.

Even now, horrified and exhausted, self-preservation ruled. She cast a look around at her surroundings. The young thief had fled into an unfamiliar part of the city, far from the alleys that were her and her brother’s home. She slid down to the ground, and drew her knees up her chest. Her dirty mess of hair fell into her eyes.

There was a ragged empty feeling in the pit of her stomach, as if a vital organ had been ripped out. She couldn’t go on without her brother. She couldn’t, and yet she had. She had left him behind, behind to die. 

Faustina hadn’t been willing to risk her life for her brother. He hadn’t been dead, not yet at least, and she had run away. Now he was most certainly dead, probably left to bleed out alone while the stranger went after her.

So immersed in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the approaching figure. A foot nudged her. She snapped out of her reverie, and scrambled to her feet, pulling her blade out of her sleeve. But instead of the hooded murderer, there was another man standing over her. He was dressed in a white shirt and a fine green vest, and had a lethal-looking razor hanging at his waist. His skin was pale, and a rather impressive mustache adorned his face, along with an equally remarkable set of eyebrows that seemed to give him a perpetually disbelieving expression.

She froze, her blade poised to strike. The man had an air of menace about him. Nothing overt, but she had a sense he used the razor for something other than shaving. She was quick, and cunning, and against a brute of a fighter had a chance. But this man was no brute. He looked to be the sort that relied on his cunning as well.  
“That young man just killed was your brother,” it wasn’t stated like a question.

She shivered “Y-Yeah.”

“Do you know what that killer was?” he asked. She shook her head, fingers still curled around the hilt of her scissor blade. “He was an Assassin. There is a whole Order of them, men who kill anyone who annoys them, and believe that to be righteous.”

Faustina had never been to court, never been educated on politics. So she nodded, willing to believe the man. He was a stranger, but he had no reason to lie to her.   
An Assassin. The vague rumors she had heard sprung to mind, and this time they took on a darker tone. 

This Assassin had murdered her brother, without any provocation. He would have murdered her as well, if he had caught her. 

It has been ten years, and she still hasn’t forgotten.

(((((((((((((((((((((((((())))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

Faustina crept forward, keeping her query in sight. The thief had been hunting this particular prey for only a few minutes, but already she was ready to make her move. Her query had walked down into a secluded alley, where no guards would hear her cries. Of course the guards were on Faustina’s side, but she hated calling unnecessary attention to herself. 

She crouched, and sprung from the roof onto the back of her target. The woman yelped, and shoved her off with one hand, pulling a lethal-looking hairpin from her hair with the other. The thief dodged a strike from the hairpin, and grabbed the woman’s wrist before she could try to impale her again.

The woman paused, and got a good look at her attacker. She started to laugh. Faustina joined her in mirth, and soon they were both giggling. The Dama Rossa tucked her hairpin away, and helped the Thief up.

“Faustina, what were you thinking?” she exclaimed, sounding more amused than angry. “I could have killed you!””

Faustina chuckled. “Just testing you. You’re losing your touch Garnette. If I had been an assassin, you would be dead.”

Garnette, the Dama Rossa, laughed scornfully. “If you had been an Assassin, I would have spotted you a mile off. Those white robes they wear on ridiculous.”

“Coming from someone who knows how to look inconspicuous,” Faustina eyed the Dama Rossa’s getup. It could be described many ways, but subtle was not one of them.

“At least I am not too proud to wear plainclothes when the occasion calls for it,” Garnette chuckled. “But mio amica, I haven’t seen you in months. How have you been?”

“Well enough,” Faustina grinned. “But this is far from a pleasant place to have a conversation. I know a quiet spot, not far from here, where we could talk without being disturbed. I have some news.””

She had an assignment for the Dama Rossa, from Baltasar, but she would prefer to get a chance to catch up with her friend before broaching the subject. The spymaster’s mission could wait.

Garnette groaned. “I know your idea of a quiet place. I am not in the mood to go climbing- I just arrived in Roma. I need to find and inn that can supply me with some hot food and a bath.” Unlike many of the other Templars, Garnette didn’t have a home within Roma. She stayed in inns, at one of the Templar’s bases, or in Faustina’s hideout. She figured buying a house would draw too much attention to herself, and she rarely stayed in one city for long anyway.

Faustina laughed. “We can get some food on the way.”

“Fine,” the Dama Rossa sighed.

They walked through the streets of Roma, keeping to alleys and quiet roads, where they would be away from crowds. Both had been Templar agents long enough to value the absence of so many prying eyes, though Faustina knew that often times a crowd was the best place to hide.

She led the Dama Rossa to a small bakery. It was run by a somber-looking old woman, and was far from a fancy affair. It sold weak tea and pastries that came in two varieties- sickeningly sweet or thick enough that you would be chewing through them for hours. Placing coins on the counter, Faustina ordered one of the latter for herself and one of the former for Garnette. She tucked the wrapped food into her pack, and they set off again  
((((((()))))))  
It was surprisingly easy to get Garnette to agree to scale the Pantheon. Perhaps the other woman shared her love of heights, or perhaps she just wanted to humor Faustina. The Thief grinned, biting in to her pastry.

“I am fairly sure that this is sacrilegious,” the Dama Rossa remarked. 

“Maybe,” Faustina shrugged. She had never given much thought to religion, despite the fact some of her fellows were quite absorbed in it.  
“ What have you been up to? Assembled a band of thieves for yourself?”

Faustina snorted. “As if.” She preferred to work alone on her assignments. Others just got in the way, or ordered her around. The Thief was fine working with other fighters in battle or combat missions, but when it came to information gathering she was the only pair of ears she could trust. “There is a new leader of the thieves in this city. La Volpe. Heard of him?”

The Dama Rossa twisted a curl of her red hair through around her fingers. “La Volpe… yes I think I have. He is the leader of the thieves Florence, is he not?”

“Not anymore,” Faustina said. “He has come here, set himself up and leader, and is trying to organize all the thieves. And worse, he’s an assassin. The Borgia have been trying to catch him for years, and he has escaped them every time. They say he robbed the Pope’s carriage, without the Pope or his guards noticing.”

“You spend too much time listening to rumors,” Garnette said scornfully. “But that is bad news. The assassins are getting bolder.”

She nodded, finishing off her pastry and licking her fingers. “Baltasar gave me a mission, and sent me to give you yours.”

“Oh?” Garnette gazed out at the city roofs.

She handed the Dama Rossa an envelope. “The details are in there.”

Garnette skimmed over the contract, and slipped it into the pouch that hung at her waist. “The usual. What’s your assignment?”

The Thief bit her lip. “Infiltrating the new Thieves’ guild.”


End file.
